


Roaming Hands Will Get Cut Off

by rei_c



Series: Cannibalism Aside (Samn) [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bars and Pubs, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Cannibalism, Cock Slut Sam, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Sam, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Exhibitionism, Genderbending, Genderfluid Sam, Genderfuck, Genderplay, Gore, I'm Sorry, Jealous Dean Winchester, Knives, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Murder, Pool & Billiards, Possessive Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Rough Sex, Sam Winchester is a Little Shit, Serial Killer Dean, Serial Killers, Sibling Incest, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Twisted, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean takes Sam out for a night on the town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roaming Hands Will Get Cut Off

**Author's Note:**

> *Hands* (Ages 21 & 17)

_Thought we'd go out for a couple beers_ , Dean says. 

Sam rolls over, faces his brother, and asks, _This got something to do with the shopping bags you brought home a few days ago and shoved in the back of the closet_? 

Dean blinks, mutters, _Why I still think I can hide anything from you_ , as he shakes his head. _Did you look in them_? 

_'Course not_ , Sam says, lets one hand glide down Dean's side, settle on his hip. 

Sam's always been tactile, always needed to touch Dean or be close enough to feel the heat Dean's body gives off, but it's gotten so much worse the last few years. Sam can't stand to have Dean out of his sight anymore and sure, Dean hates it when he can't lay eyes or hands on Sam, but even he recognises the need for space when they go out, when they're researching or hunting or killing. 

Dean knows that Sam loves him, that Sam needs him, has always known that. He just never realised that maybe he's not returning the favour enough for Sam's taste. Of course, Sam's always been a possessive little shit, too, so it could just be that. 

_So_? Sam asks, pulling Dean's attention back to him. _Why did you hide this_? 

_It's been awhile since you said anything_ , Dean says. He reaches out, twists one of Sam's ridiculous fly-away curls around a finger, tugs lightly. _And I know you meant it then but you've grown since._

Sam smiles, the kind of smile that only Dean gets, that only Dean has ever gotten, and leans over, kisses Dean's forehead. _How many times do I have to tell you, Dean? I'm always up for whatever you want_.

Dean lets the curl go, reaches down and grips Sam's cock, says, _Oh believe me, I know you're always up. Jesus, how you can get it up so much just blows my mind._ Sam laughs and Dean rolls his eyes, says, _Don't even say it. Just -- go look._

With another kiss to Dean's forehead, Sam rolls out of bed, hips swaying from side to side as he walks over to the closet, crouches down and digs past duffels and piles of dirty clothes to pull out the shopping bags Dean hid away three weeks ago. He's naked, doesn't care at all, and Dean's admiring the curves of Sam's ass, the bite mark on his left cheek, as Sam stands up, brings the bags back over the bed. 

Dean scoots up, sits with his back against the wall, pulls the sheet up over his lap and waits, practically holds his breath with anticipation. He's not at all sure how Sam's going to react, especially since Dean wants to take him out in public the very first time they do this, but Sam looks in one of the bags and grins. 

_I thought you'd forgotten_ , Sam tells him, looking into the others. _Or let it go, at least._

 _You don't mind_? Dean asks. _If you don't wanna, you don't -- it was a stupid idea, I know_.

Sam dumps everything out onto the bed, picks through the clothes, and says, _Of course I don't mind. 'S'just clothes, Dean. What I wear doesn't change who I am. And hey, maybe I'll like this kind of stuff enough to actually wear clothes in the house instead of traipsing about naked_.

 _Like it when you traipse around naked_ , Dean says, voice husky with lust. _Makes for easy access._

 _Slut_ , Sam says, smacking Dean's foot where it's sticking out from under the sheet. _When d'you wanna leave? I dunno how long it's gonna take me to get ready._

Dean glances out the window; dark already, though sunset right now is around six. _Anytime, I guess_ , he says. 

Sam smiles, scoops up everything into his arms, and says, _Hope you don't need the bathroom for a while_ , and disappears out of the room, around the corner, into the bathroom with the door locked before Dean can formulate any kind of response. 

\--

It actually only takes an hour and a half before Sam's opening the bathroom door. It's like a Pavlovian reaction or something; hearing the click of the lock releasing and the door squeaking open is enough to dry out Dean's mouth, send blood flowing south. 

_Turn around_ , Sam calls out. Dean calls back that he has and Sam says, _For real, Dean, please_.

Dean huffs, turns around and practically bounces on the balls of his feet as he hears movement behind him. 

_Okay_ , Sam says. _You can look_. With his heart racing, Dean turns back around and promptly loses the ability to breathe. Sam's standing there in -- Sam's wearing -- fuck, there's no chance in hell he's taking his little brother out when he looks like fucking sin on legs. Sam smiles, a coy little thing, and says with a smirk, _That good, huh? Everything you imagined_? 

_Fuck_ , Dean says, the only thing he can think besides pure savage want, and he takes one step towards Sam before he stops, forces everything down so he can at least enjoy this view before he messes it all up, fucks Sam right here in the living room. _I don't even know what I imagined_ , Dean says. _When you said all the way, you really meant it._

Sam laughs, not his normal laugh but something higher, something a little more musical. Dean stares and Sam spins slowly, giving Dean a three hundred-and-sixty degree view, stopping as he faces Dean again. 

Dean shakes his head again. _There is no fucking way I'm taking you to a bar looking like that_ , he says. _Not a goddamned chance in hell._

Sam pouts, says, _Embarrassed_? like he can't see that Dean's dick is so hard it's going to be ripping through his jeans any second now, like he can't tell from the way Dean's licking his lips or how far blown his pupils are that Dean is six steps away from turning Sam around and fucking him dry.

 _Possessive_ , Dean says, practically a growl. 

He takes another step and Sam holds up one hand, says, _This took a long time, Dean. If you wanna tear it off me here and now, I don't have a problem with that. But if you wanna show me off and let everyone else know who I'm going home with at the end of the night -- who I'm_ always _gonna go home with at the end of the night -- that's fine, too._

Dean's hands clench into fists at the thought of anyone seeing Sam dressed like this -- but then he realises what Sam just said. Sam's given Dean implicit permission to be as alpha male territorial as he wants, just told Dean that if Dean wants, he can bend Sam over a table and fuck him in front of everyone, that anything Dean says, Sam will do. They don't do it like this that often, they're so in sync that they don't need to lay out any rules or make any decisions beforehand or even talk about it, in tune with each other's bodies and moods and minds so instinctively, the give-and-take between them something they've always had, but Sam, dressed this way, has lit up something in the back of Dean's hindbrain. 

_You sure_? Dean asks. 

_Just please don't make me call you daddy_ , Sam says, grimacing at the thought. Dean winces as well, figures they'll pretty much always have to let that kink slide because -- no. _Last chance to back out_ , Sam says. _Once we step out that door, we're gonna do this._

Dean bites his lower lip, thinks, finally says, _Then let's go_ , with more bravado than he's actually feeling. 

Sam closes the distance between them; Dean has just enough time to rest his hands on Sam's hips for a far too short moment before Sam gently presses a kiss to Dean's lips and twirls away, toward the front door. _Don't wanna ruin my lipstick_ , Sam says, wicked grin over his shoulder. 

God, when they're done with this, when Dean's had all he can take, he's going to smear that fucking lipstick all over Sam's body with his _teeth_.

\--

The bar Dean takes them to is on the edge of town. They've been in a few times over the past few weeks, enough that Dean's recognised when he strolls up to the door. It's a rough-and-tumble kind of place, nothing fancy but the food is good and the beer is cold; that's really all Dean needs. All Sam usually needs, too, but tonight Sam's on his arm instead of just next to him, and the guy checking IDs at the door whistles when he sees Sam. 

Dean hands over the IDs -- one fake, one stolen -- and the bouncer hardly looks them over, eyes pinned to Sam. Dean can't blame the guy, Sam's always been magnetic but this is just ridiculous, and they get waved in without a problem. 

Instead of heading to the bar once they get inside, Dean picks out a table in the corner, makes sure Sam's sitting down and comfortable before he goes to get them some drinks. The bartender's a pretty little thing, some young college girl that Dean's briefly had fantasies about ripping apart, and she winks when Dean leans against the bar and orders a couple shots and some beer. 

"Quite the looker," the bartender says. "Hell, I'm straight and I want to make a play for her. What's her name?"

"Sam," Dean says, even though the name doesn't match the one on Sam's stolen driver's license. "And yeah, she's gorgeous, ain't she. All mine, too."

The bartender laughs, pushes over the beers and the shots, and says, "I'll have to make sure the cops are on speed-dial, 'cause I don't think I'm the only one looking and who knows what some of these guys might try after a couple cold ones. Just -- try to keep it down, okay?"

Dean gathers up the drinks, beer bottles already slick with condensation, and says, "Yes, ma'am," with a grin that makes her flush and mutter something about threesomes. He walks back to Sam, practically struts as he makes sure everyone knows who she's with, showing off how proud he is, and sets the drinks down before he sits across from her. 

Her. There's no doubt in Dean's mind: right now, Sam's all woman. Thinking of her any other way's liable to get her heels in his balls and he's gonna need those later. 

_How long're we gonna stay_? Sam asks, and throws back her shot like it's nothing. 

Dean's fixated on the arch of her neck, the way she swallows, and it takes him a moment to gather himself enough to reply. _Dunno_ , he says, and reaches across the table to tuck one loose strand of hair behind Sam's ear. _Long enough for a couple games of pool and a few beers, but there's no way I'm gonna be able to wait more than a couple hours to fuck you_.

Sam laughs; everyone within a thirty-foot radius looks at them. Dean watches, sees them all drinking her down, knows they're imagining her naked, wondering if they could spirit her away from Dean. Idiots, the lot of them, if they can't see the way he and Sam are looking at each other, caught up in their own little world. 

Besides, they have no idea what's under her skirt. 

_Should probably get over to the tables, then_ , Sam says, just before she reaches over to grab Dean's shot, throw it back as well. _We're gonna need more Jack. Or I am, at least. Don't want you getting whiskey dick_ , she teases. 

_Bitch_ , Dean tells her, but it's empty of heat, not an insult but an affectionate nickname even with Sam's genderplay tonight. 

Sam stands up, smoothes down her skirt and tilts her head, licks those cherry-red lips of hers. _Come on, jerk_ , she says, and offers Dean a hand. He stares at it for a moment before he takes it, eyes fixed on her nail polish, on the tiny silver ring in place of a wedding band. _You wanted to come out, you gotta pay_.

Dean picks up the two bottles of beer, offers one to Sam, and watches, mesmerised, as she wraps her lips around the opening, tips the bottle back and has a few swallows. Her eyes stay on Dean the entire time, nothing but teasing temptation in those hazel irises, glint of humour in her pupils. _Fuck_ , Dean murmurs. _You can't -- you can't just do that, Sam_.

Sam blots her thumb over her lips, presses to scoop up a few stray drops of beer without smudging her lipstick. _Think I just did, big brother_ , she says, and hands the bottle back to Dean, smacking his ass as she walks past him toward the bar. _Come on, buy me a real drink._

He's always heard the saying 'hate to see her go but love to watch her leave,' and Dean's never understood it until right this minute. Sam's hips are swaying as she walks, stance and strut changed by the heels she's wearing. Her skirt's flaring from side to side, giving off the barest hinting glimpse of the bottom curve of her asscheeks, the tight fit of her shirt showing off that tiny, tiny waist Sam has, even with her growth spurt, the inches she's put on but hasn't grown into yet all in her legs. Those legs -- between the heels and the skirt, her legs look a million miles long. 

Dean wants to take her home, get those legs wrapped around him, feel her heels dig into his back. Jesus _fucking_ christ. 

Sam's leaning against the bar by the time Dean shakes himself awake, strides after her with a bottle of beer in each hand. He sets the full bottle on the bar, chugs the rest of Sam's and tastes the faint hint of lipstick. He wraps one arm low around Sam's hips, pulls her close. Sam comes willingly, looks up at Dean with a slight smile on her face; she knows what she's doing, what he's doing, and -- holy shit, she likes it. 

"So, lovebirds," the bartender says, grinning at Dean and then turning that smile on Sam, losing a little of the edge to turn soft and warm. Dean completely understands but he doesn't like it, doesn't like anyone else looking at his little sister like that. "What can I get you? Couple more shots?" 

"A glass of Jack for me," Sam purrs, and Dean watches, half-amused, half-hateful, as the bartender flushes, pupils dilating. "Couple pieces of ice if you can. Dean here's still working on his beer."

The bartender nods, still staring; it takes her a moment before she seems to shake herself out of it. "Sure thing, babe. I mean. Yeah, right away." 

Dean growls, a low, sub-vocal noise that echoes through his body more than comes up from his throat. Sam grins, baring her teeth, and leans even further into Dean's side. She tilts her head up, purses her lips in invitation. _Thought you didn't wanna mess your lipstick_ , he says, eyes narrowed. 

_Aw_ , Sam says, voice like nothing so much as the feeling of silk on Dean's cock. _Thanks for thinking of me, big brother. But you'd better fucking kiss me so everyone here knows who I belong to._

That's more than an invitation, that's an order, and as on edge as Dean is right now, as possessive and territorial as he's feeling, he almost refuses on principle, unwilling to accept any commands from Sam. But Sam's only asking for the same thing Dean wants, so he shifts his body, shifts Sam's, and pulls the front of her body up against his, puts one thigh between her legs, puts one hand on her ass, under the skirt and over her lacey panties, the other in her hair as he tugs, hard, and swoops in for a kiss. 

Sam gives underneath him, pliant, accepting, opening her lips, letting Dean take her mouth any which way he wants. He kisses hard, bruisingly hard, with his fingers digging into the meat of Sam's ass, the other hand yanking on her hair the way she sometimes likes. Sam groans into Dean's mouth, lets Dean rub against her leg and slides her hands into the back pocket of Dean's jeans, trying to get him even closer. When Dean breaks off the kiss, leans his head back, he's ridiculously thrilled to see her smudged lipstick, to gaze into her eyes and see them blown wide, to feel the noise she makes when Dean pulls his thigh away from her. 

Dean looks around as Sam fixes her lipstick using an empty glass as a mirror. _Think they got the message_ , Dean says, meeting more than a few eyes, glaring at more than a few other. 

"So that was pretty much porn," the bartender says. She's fanning herself with a napkin, looks like she'd let either of them bend her over right here, right now. She sets the Jack down and Sam reaches for it almost instantly. Their fingers brush, Dean sees it, and the bartender bites her bottom lip as Sam takes the glass, smiles invitingly over it. 

Sam sips, leaves the perfect imprint of her lipstick on the glass, asks, _Something wrong, big brother_?

 _Such a slut, Sammy_ , Dean says. He trails one finger across her lips, lets his hand slide teasingly into the low v-necked shirt she's wearing, nails brushing the curve of -- Dean wonders if the bra she's wearing matches the panties. _My dirty fucking girl. Turnin' on all these people, making 'em want something they ain't never gonna get_. He steps closer, gets his mouth right next to her ear, tells her, _Flirt all you want, sweetheart, but don't be surprised if I start throwing punches. Pick 'em carefully._

 _You've been thinking about killing her since the first time you saw her_ , Sam replies. She's got one hand on Dean's neck, is holding his mouth to her throat, and he sucks and bites his marks onto that smooth, pretty column of skin. She moves back long before Dean's ready and lifts the glass of whiskey to her lips, ruins Dean's plan of kissing her again. _This might just give you the excuse_. She pauses there, looks through her eyelashes at Dean, says, _Want me to give you an excuse_? 

Deal lets out a breath. Any other day, he'd be rolling his eyes, maybe take off a sock and throw it in Sam's direction, but this is the first time she's ever dressed like this and it's fucking with all of Dean's instincts. _I'm gonna go play a couple games of pool_ , he says. Sam narrows her eyes, twirling one curl of her hair around her fingers. _Don't let anyone touch you. I mean it, Sam. They touch you, they lose their fucking hands_.

Sam laughs, gives Dean a peck on the lips, and asks the bartender, "My man here's gonna play some pool and he wants an audience. Can we leave our tab open a little longer?"

"Long as you want," the bartender replies, immediate response. "Just wave if either of you need refills; I'll get one of the floor girls to bring them out." 

"Thanks," Sam says. 

Dean's got one bottle of beer in his hand and the other's splayed over the small of Sam's back, under the shirt against warm skin, as he walks them both over to the side room with the pool tables. 

There's another, random guy hanging out by one of the occupied tables but he brightens up as soon as he sees Dean, comes over and holds out a hand. "Ken. You wanna play?"

"Dean, and yeah, man, thanks," Dean says. He sets Sam up on one of the high tables, lifts her onto a stool and then stands between her legs, nuzzles his face into the skin between the bra cups. _Stay_ , he tells her, then takes the cue stick and chalk before Sam has any chance to snark back a reply. 

\--

It's been over an hour and Dean's up three games to two; he's not pulling any of his trick shots and Ken's not that bad. Dean's been watching Sam between turns, eyes caught on the way she uncrosses and crosses her legs, by the way she makes a circle in the air to let the bartender know they're ready for the next round, the way she picks up a piece of ice and sucks into her mouth, makes such a picture that Dean nearly creams his jeans and he thinks one guy actually did. 

"Missed," Ken says, and he sighs, says, "You're gonna take this one, Dean, I can feel it." 

"Not over 'til the fat lady sings, man," Dean replies, elbowing Ken as they pass each other around the table. "Have some confidence in yourself; you're a damn good player." 

Ken snorts, says, "Good enough to know when I am completely outclassed. You do this for a living?" 

Dean eyes the solid blue ball, shoots and sinks it. "Nah," Dean says. "Not that good." Ken disagrees, is clear about that, but Dean's seen someone sit in the chair across from Sam, lean in, all smiles and teeth. Dean stands up straight, almost walks over and asks the stupid idiot what the fuck he's thinking, how has it not been clear that Sam is _his_? 

Sam's got it under control, though. She's moved as far away from the table as she can on the stool, isn't paying any attention to the guy as he keeps talking, her eyes fixed on Dean. Sam shrugs one shoulder; apparently the douchebag hasn't gotten to the shitty pick-up line yet. 

"Your move," Ken reminds him. 

Dean bares his teeth at Sam, turns it into a smile before it gets to Ken. "Sorry," he says, and sinks the yellow. It's his turn again but this time when he looks, he sees Sam snap, can read her lips to see that she's telling the other guy to back off, she's not interested, she's here with someone. Dean starts to see red; the only thing holding him back is the way Sam's suddenly holding a fork and looks more than prepared to use it. 

He sinks the last remaining solids in a few quick and easy strokes, calls the corner pocket for the 8-ball and bounces it off three sides to have it land, perfect, in the pocket. Ken's staring at him and Dean puts his cue on the table, says, "Sorry, man," and hightails it to Sam's table. 

Halfway there, close enough to hear Sam say, "No means no, asshole. What part of that is confusing?" the guy reaches across the table and touches Sam's hand. "You," Sam says, "are really going to regret that." 

"Don't know how, sweetheart," the guy says, and this time Dean loses it completely. That's _his_ word for Sam, that's only for _him_ to say to her, and even hearing the guy say something about how Sam's so lithe and delicate she won't be able to fight back but she could try if she wants doesn't make him any more angry than he already is. There's no way he could be more furious, especially because his normal raging hot temper has gone so far past burning that it's ice now, cold and glacial the way Sam gets. 

They'll have to look into that. Later. Once this guy's torn to pieces. 

"Listen, man," Dean says, yanking the guy off the bar stool. "The lady said no, okay? What part of that don't you understand?"

"The part where I don't really care," the guy snaps back. "She came out looking like that, she should know what to expect. Think a girl who dresses like that ain't a slut just begging for a fuck?" 

Dean hears Sam get off her stool, her heels echoing in the now-silent room as she steps around Dean, stands at his side. "I am a slut," she says, chin held high, eyes narrowed. "I love being fucked, love the feeling when a big, thick dick splits me in half and fills me up good. But there's only one man on the face of this planet who gets to touch me -- and you aren't him."

The guy sneers in Sam's direction but Sam spins fast, kicks him right in the nuts with the heel of her shoe, and as he's going down, she tosses her hair back, straightens out her shirt and smoothes down her skirt. _That felt good_ , she says. 

_This will, too_ , and Dean punches the guy right in the nose, breaks it in more than one place, knocks the guy out cold. Dean lifts an arm and Sam fits herself beneath it, clings tight to him, lets him hold her and inhale the scent of her hair to help him calm. When he thinks he can talk again, when he no longer feels the urge to set the world ablaze, he looks out, sees people watching them. "Anyone else feel like taking a chance at my girl?" 

A swift murmur of 'no's and 'hell no's and ' _fuck_ no's circles through the room. Dean nods, pleased, bares his teeth in the parody of a smile, and twines his fingers in with Sam, leads her to the bar. 

"Guess we'll close out our tab," Dean says, "seeing as how you've got the cops on speed dial." 

The bartender, her eyes wide, smiles weakly, says, "That guy's a dick. Drinks are on us tonight if you leave right now." 

Sam smiles, one half of her mouth quirking up, and has just enough time to say, "Thanks," before Dean's dragging her out of the bar. 

\--

They don't even make it to the parking lot out back before Dean has Sam pressed up against the wall. _No one else_ , Dean tells her. _No one else ever_.

 _Dean_ , she says, as if Dean's missing something obvious, as if he's completely lost his mind, _there's only ever been you. And there only ever will be._ She reaches, puts a hand on Dean's cheek, says, _You're going to kill him, aren't you._

 _Touched what's mine_ , Dean snarls. _Laid a hand on you and talked about -- jesus, Sam -- talked about raping you like it was nothin'. So yeah, douchebag like that deserves to die. Painfully._

Sam smiles, soft, and says, _Drop me off at home first, okay? My feet are fucking killing me._

That startles a laugh out of Dean. His vision's going back to normal, his pulse back to steadiness, but every heartbeat's just telling him one thing, over and over: _kill, kill, kill_. He swallows it down, tells himself that he's gonna, he just needs to take care of Sam first and Sam's always more important, he can wait to get a knife in this guy. 

_Get in the car, then,_ Dean tells her, letting her off the wall and nodding in the direction of the parking lot. He wants to watch the swing of her hips and ass, see the muscle tone of her legs in the heels; Sam looks at him over her shoulder, coy invitation in the tilt of her chin, because she knows exactly what Dean's thinking. _Dirty, filthy cockslut_ , he murmurs, following her close. _Wanna be taken home and fucked like the slut you are, don't you, Sam. Could'a had you right here, against the wall, or inside for that guy to see. Think he'd like to see how pretty you beg for me to fuck you, baby girl? See how gorgeous you cry when you're choking on my dick? See how fucking beautiful you are when you're telling me 'harder, faster,' until you can't speak anymore, just scream my name_? 

_Jesus, Dean_ , Sam says, voice shaking. _You can't_ say _shit like that._

Dean palms the bulge of his dick, presses hard, and nips at the back of Sam's neck, says, _Say whatever I want. I know it gets you hot and hard, hearing me talk about what we're gonna do. You getting those pretty panties wet for me, sweetheart? Getting ready to let me into that sweet, tight little body like it's the only thing you live for_? 

Sam stumbles and Dean instantly steadies her, pulls her back flush against his chest. She groans when she feels how hard he is, melts into the grip he has on her waist. _Do it now_ , she begs. _God, fuck, Dean, I need you, need you inside me, jesus, need you to fuck me_.

 _Not yet_ , Dean says with a low laugh. _You made me wait and payback's a bitch._

 _I'm wearing a plug_ , Sam says. Dean instantly stops laughing. _Take off my panties, take that thing out of my ass, and fuck me._

Dean manhandles Sam over to the Impala, practically throws her against it, her hands landing on the hood with two loud thumps. Dean doesn't need to tell her to spread her legs, she does that automatically, and Dean flips up the skirt to see the barest hint of a plug in her hole through the lace of her underwear. _Gonna kill me_ , Dean says, moving the panties to one side and touching the plug, pulling it out and then pushing it back in a few times to see how loose Sam is. 

Loose enough _and_ already dripping with lube. Shit. 

_Really went all out tonight, huh_ , Dean murmurs, undoing his jeans and pulling out his cock. _You knew everyone would be all over you, didn't you, and all so I'd fuck that tight little hole of yours out here, like this, where anyone could see._

 _Thought maybe you'd_ , Sam says, breath hitching as Dean pulls the plug out and sinks into her in one long stroke. _Fuck, Dean, god. Thought maybe you'd do it in there, in front of everyone, and I -- Dean, more, more, give me more_.

Dean's got one hand between Sam's legs from the front, feels how hard her dick's trying to get even with it being tucked, the other hand peppering her waist with marks that'll turn into candy-coloured bruises in no time at all. _Begging for it already, Sam_ , he says, half-thrusting into her, half-pulling her back onto his cock. _Shit, you feel so fucking good_.

 _Come in me_ , Sam tells him, clenching around his dick. _Come in me and stick the plug back in._

 _Yeah_? Dean asks. _Then what_? 

Sam laughs, says, _Take me home, go kill that asshole, then come back. I'll be naked in the bedroom and you can pull the plug out, eat me out, get me covered in blood._

It's such a pretty picture; Sam's always been good at painting those. Dean briefly flirts with the idea of saying no, telling Sam to do something else, anything else, but then he's coming in her and she's making these short little gasping noises of mingled pain and pleasure and he's trying to catch his breath and she's crying -- wait. She's crying. 

_What is it_? Dean asks. _Sam, what's wrong? Did I hurt you_? 

She sniffles, wipes her nose off on the back of her hand, and turns a wild look on Dean over her shoulder. _My dick's fucking tucked between my legs and my balls are pushed so far up me, I think they're trying to get back inside. I just wanna come, Dean, but I can't, not like this, fuck, wanna come so bad it hurts_.

Dean grins, presses a kiss to Sam's hair, then pulls out and pushes the plug back in, no gentleness about it. Judging by the noise Sam makes, it's not exactly unwelcome. _Got a better plan_ , he says, and helps her walk to the passenger side door, opens it for her. She slides in, wincing, and Dean leans down, says, _I'm gonna take you home, take out that fucking plug, then eat your pretty little hole until you can't even_ beg _anymore. Gonna fuck you in these clothes, baby girl, then go out and kill the motherfucker who thought you were free for the taking. Sound good_? 

Sam swallows, licks her lips, and looks at Dean with wide eyes, pupils blown. _Yeah_ , she says. _Sounds -- fucking get in the car, Dean_.

\--

They barely make it in the house before Dean's got Sam on the floor, has thrown her legs over his shoulders, moved her panties to one side so he could take out the plug, and then dived in to eat her out. It doesn't take long before she's writhing on the floor, crying and begging, and that's when Dean rips the panties off, lace panels parting like air under his touch, gets Sam's cock and balls back where they belong. The instant Dean touches Sam's dick, Sam's spurting out come like she's never orgasmed before, has been saving it all up for this very moment. 

Dean doesn't stop when Sam's done, though, tongue-fucking her, nibbling at the rim of her hole, sliding three fingers in and out and rubbing at Sam's prostate. Sam tightens her legs around Dean's head, her hands with their cherry-red polish scrabbling for him, trying to push him deeper inside. 

_Dean, god, feels so good_ , she's moaning, the smell of her down here getting musky, the perfect scent of Sam that Dean's had memorised for years now. _Don't stop, please don't stop, shit, gimme more, please_.

 _Love it when you ask all nice like that_ , Dean tells her. He pushes down his jeans, teases her hole with his dick, wet with precome. _You want this, sweetheart? Want your big brother to fuck you good and hard? Want to be my slutty, filthy little girl_? 

Sam arches, futilely trying to get Dean inside of her. She tries, tries so hard, but it's only a handful of seconds before she gasps out, _Yeah, Dean, please, I'll be anything, do anything, just please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me_.

Dean's never been one to refuse an invitation like that; he stops teasing and fucks into her hard, fast. Sam practically bends in half, screams as he slides in, and claws at his back, drawing blood. 

It doesn't take long for Sam to come all over her clothes -- again -- and Dean's not that much better, filling her up with more of his come, feeling it dribble out of her hole when he's pulling out. He collapses to the floor next to her, both of them panting for breath, staring at the ceiling. 

\--

 _So that's something we need to add to the list_ , Sam finally says. _We have to do this again, Dean, I don't even care what we do or where we go, that was the best sex we've had in months. Shit._

Dean rolls onto his side, props himself up on an elbow, grins down at Sam. _You liked it when I called you my baby girl, didn't you_ , he says rather than asks. _Liked everyone knowing you were a slut for my dick_.

Sam smiles back at Dean, lifts a hand and runs her fingers through his hair. _Well, I mean, I_ am _a slut for your dick. At least you weren't lying about that._ She laughs, adds, _No one in there would've believed you were lying about the other thing, either. I make a pretty hot chick, don't I_?

 _The hottest_ , Dean says. He kisses the tip of her nose then stands up, pulls his jeans back up, buttons and zips them. 

He's not sure if he should leave, now, not with Sam blissed out on sex in the middle of the living room, doesn't look like she'll be able to move anytime soon, but Sam limply waves a hand in the direction of the door, says, _Sooner you go, sooner you get home and we can get back to the filthy dirty slutty fucking._

Dean snorts, can't help it. _'Kay_ , he says. _See you soon_.

\--

Four in the morning and Dean's standing over the asshole from the bar. Andy -- that's his name, according to the name on the mailbox and bills in the kitchen -- is in his bed, duct tape over his mouth, tape and rope binding his wrists and ankles together, bleeding all over his clean white sheets. He's missing a hand, the one he touched Sam with.

"Such a pity," Dean says. "Eight-hundred thread count Egyptian cotton, must feel like sleeping on air, and blood's such a bitch to get out." 

Andy's glaring at Dean, spitting curses behind the tape, and Dean's kind of impressed at the guy's fortitude but he wants this asshole fucking _broken_. Dean sits down on the bed, taps the tip of the knife against his teeth. "What to do next," he says, thoughtful. "Oh, hey, I know," and he leaps into action, sits on Andy's chest and carves out Andy's eyes, laughing while Andy screams. 

"You know why I did that?" Dean asks, tossing the eyes over his shoulder to land on the floor, one after the other. He bends down, gets nose-to-nose with Andy; the effect's lost on Andy, he doesn't have eyes anymore, but Dean likes looking in the orbital sockets, likes to play around with the optic nerve a little. "I mean, you're not gonna live past tonight -- barely another hour, I'd say, judging from the blood loss -- but that was for my baby sister. Oh, wait, you don't know, do you," Dean says, chuckling. "That girl I was with at the bar? That's my little brother. This was the first night we got to play dress-up and you almost ruined it for us. Eyes all over her, imagining what you were gonna do to her."

Dean sits up, slices the knife down Andy's left cheek, then his right, in a parody of the tears that've already dried onto his skin. "That girl you were thinkin' about holdin' down and raping? She makes the best raspberry jelly using eyes. See, the inside comes out like a clear jelly if you squeeze the right way and Sam's not one to let anything go to waste when she feels like cooking. Wonder if I should've saved yours for her. Oops." 

There's a car moving outside, bright lights, and Dean pauses, stills, with the knife against Andy's jugular. Dean waits until the car's gone, light and noise both, then smiles, scoots down until he's sitting on Andy's knees. 

"You are _really_ not gonna like this part," Dean tells him. He uses the knife to cut Andy's boxers apart, pushes them off to the side, and tilts his head. "Aw," Dean says. "That's kind of adorable, actually. I don't think I've seen a dick that small since my brother was six. That why you have to rape women, because otherwise they take one look at that and start laughing?" 

Dean doesn't wait for an answer -- not that Andy could give him one even if he wanted to -- and lifts up Andy's dick. "Deep breath," he tells Andy, then does a very not-gentle job of cutting off the guy's dick, right before Dean castrates him. "I'm really just doing a service to the community, you know," Dean says, as he sets one testicle in each eye socket. "Monsters like you shouldn't be out on the streets." 

Dean gets up, then, surveys his handiwork, figures there could be a bit more blood. With a mental shrug, he cuts off Andy's other hand, then just goes wild with the knife, digging here and slicing there, whatever he wants wherever he feels like it. 

When that gets boring, Dean lets out a sigh and slices Andy's throat in one deep line. Andy drowns in his own blood and it's a quick death, quicker than he deserves, probably should've let him go from blood loss, but Dean takes Andy's cock and shoves the head into Andy's throat. 

Dean steps back from the bed, licks the knife, and turns around. He jumps, startled, when he sees Sam leaning against the doorframe, hands crossed on his chest, slight smile on his lips. _Jesus, Sammy, warn a guy, would you_? 

Sam stands up, walks over to Dean, hair and nail polish and makeup all saying _female_ while the bulge in Sam's jeans screams _male_. He glances at Andy, raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, then gets to Dean, puts two fingers under the waistband of Dean's jeans and tugs. _Come home, Dean_ , Sam says. 

Dean pulls his brother close, the blood on his hands and clothes getting all over Sam as Dean holds him tight, and says, _I am_.


End file.
